Bad Company
by MarshalCogburn
Summary: A prequel to Let Me In and my own story "Sweet Dreams", this tells the story of Abby's days running with Skinner Sweet's outlaw gang durin the Great Depression, and also how she came to meet a certain four-eyed gentlemen with a strange birthmark...
1. Chapter 1

**Bad **

**Company **

**Somewhere in the Texas Panhandle, June 8, 1935 **

"…and then, jaws agape and slobbering blood, the vicious child-monster rose from ground, the stake still lodged in her heart stomach. The hunter's aim had been off but a hair, but to this devilish darling it made all the difference. As Conroy fumbled in his pocket for the cross the priest had given him, the fiend leapt for him, knocking him to the ground, her tiny jaws gnashing at his throat. Conroy screamed, a pitiful choking cry, while blood and gore splattered in the moonlight as the vampire drank her fill…"

Twenty year old James "Jimmy" Hyerdal, a payroll guard for the T&I Farming and Agriculture Company out of Lubbock, Texas sat in the back of the small armored truck he was paid $3.00 an hour to guard, along with the two older, more experienced guards, Mike Inglewood, thirty-nine, and Bill Fawkes, fifty-two. Inglewood drove, the inky yellow headlights carving twin tunnels through the pitch black of the northwest Texas night. Fawkes rode shotgun, and was currently chowing down on a cold cheeseburger, the last of the dinner the trio had purchased in Quanah. They were on their way back to Lubbock, carrying $100,000 in greenbacks for the fifty-two mechanics that comprised T&I's work force. Hyerdal had bought the _Tales of the Weird and Gruesome Magazine _at the same greasy spoon they had purchased their supper. He had been reading it aloud to his older co-workers for the last hour and a half, and after ninety minutes of mummies, werewolves, and vampires, both were ready to make the youngster walk the remaining forty miles to Lubbock.

"Will you cut that shit out?" Fawkes asked around a mouthful of cheeseburger.

"If you can think of a better way to pass the time, please…"

"If ya' had to buy anything, why couldn't ya' grab a Western? Billy the Kid, Hopalong Cassidy, anythin's better'n this hogwash 'bout…werewolves and little kid blood-suckers."

"Yeah," Inglewood agreed, shifting in his seat to allow circulation back to his left buttock. These seats, damn. "Or a _True Crime. _Ya'll been readin' about the Bishop Gang?"

"Hell yeah," Fawkes said. "Knocked over a bank over in Arizona, 'week ago tomorrow mornin'. Killed some people, didn't they?

"Shit, that's a grand understatement if I ever heard one," Inglewood chuckled.

"A which?"

"Understatement. Like, ya' didn't say enough about what happened?"

"Hell, Mike, I's just askin' a question…"

Hyderal rolled his eyes.

"Someone just say what happened?"

"Yeah," Inglewood said. "Way I heard tell, that fella, Jesse Bishop, well, him, them Sykes brothers Clyde and Tyrell, and this Mexican fella walk into the First National Bank of Contention, guns drawn, start tellin' the employees to empty out the safe, then tells the customers to hand over any watches, valuables they might'a had."

"Hell, Dillinger's more exciting than that, 'least he used to leap over the counter with two Tommy guns in each hand…," Jimmy said.

"Why don't ya' let me finish tellin' the damn story?"

Jimmy sat back, simpering.

"Anyway, so 'round about five minutes in, Bishop decides the tellers're takin' too long, so he up and shoots one of the customers. Says for every minute the money isn't handed over to him, he's gonna kill a passenger. Tells his gang not to fire a shot, he's the only one gonna do any killin' today, he says. Well now, I guess them bankers were havin' trouble gettin' the safe open, 'cause in five minutes, five more customers are dead."

Fawkes whistled.

"So the inside of the bank is covered in blood and dead folks by the time the bankers finally hand over the money. Jesse throws the money on over Clyde Sykes, on account of he's kinda his right hand man and whatnot, tells 'em to run on outside to the car, he'll catch up later. Rest of the gang leaves. Jesse turns and tells the teller what handed him the moneybag that six people are dead, but it took him seven minutes to hand over the money. This teller's gotta die. Teller says somethin' like, you only got one gun, and it's a six shooter. You done used all your bullets. And that's when Bishop smiles, and..."

He had Inglewood and Hyerdal on the edge of their seats.

"What? Goddamn it Mike…", Fawkes urged.

Inglewood chuckled. "And. He rips the poor bastards throat."

Hyderal stared at Inglewood, unbelieving. "You're shittin' me?"

"Damn straight, accordin' to one of the customers managed to live through it. Said he hit the teller, fella name of Winthrop, across the throat. Blood gushed everywhere. Head 'bout came clean off. Then he just turned and walked on out."

Jimmy and Bill were silent. Inglewood could tell they were both trying to picture the scene; bodies everywhere, blood, chaos, followed by something that shouldn't even be possible for a human man to do with his bare hands.

"That ain't even the worse part though," Inglewood continued.

"Jesus Christ on rubber crutches, it gets worse?" Fawkes asked.

"Yep. Same witness? Said that as Bishop was walkin' out of the bank, he was lickin' that fella Winthrop's blood off his fingers. Enjoyin' it too. Like fried chicken."

Inglewood caught Hyerdal's wide eyes in the rearview mirror.

"Now that's a vampire story for ya' right there, Jimmy-my-boy. Goddamn true, too."

Jimmy shook his head and sat back in his seat.

"Hear tell some of these're true too," he said, raising his _Tales of the Weird. _Take this one I been readin' to ya'll, "The Child Blood Fiend of the Bayou." Back in the early 1800's, somethin' like this, this little girl was supposed to have gone around and killed a bunch of folks over in Louisiana. Drank their blood. Bullets and knives couldn't kill her, and she only came out at night. They got historical stuff, interviews and the like, backin' it up."

"Aww hell, that kinda' stuff's bullshit," Fawkes said. "Ain't no such thing as vampires. Jesse Bishop sure as hell ain't one, he's just out of his goddamn mind. Probably thought it'd get people even more scared of him than they already are, watchin' him lick blood off his fingers like that. 'Sides, like ya' say, vampires can only came out at night. What time that robbery happen, Mike?"

"'Bout, two or three in the afternoon."

"See. In Arizona, of all places. Ain't no place sunnier'n Arizona. Bishop was some sort'a Dracula, he'd be one crispy critter right now, I'll tell ya' that."

"JESUS CHRIST, MIKE!"

Inglewood saw it at the exact time that Hyerdal did. The glow of the headlights fell upon the prone form, and Inglewood hit the brake as hard as he could without jackknifing the truck. The vehicle came to a screeching halt just merely three feet away.

It was a little girl, wearing a loose-fitting, worn gingham dress, her head haloed in grimy blonde hair.

The three guards took a moment to catch their breath.

"Mother Mary," Fawkes said. "What in the hell you reckon she's doin' out here?"

"Shit, I dunno," Inglewood said. "There's a hobo camp 'bout five miles east'a here. Maybe she wandered off from there."

"Poor little thing," Fawkes said. He opened the passenger's side door.

"Wait! Where the hell you goin'?" Hyerdal asked.

"To take a shit. Where the hell you think I'm goin', we gotta help her."

"Yeah kid, hell's your problem?" Inglewood asked.

"I just…" Hyerdal looked down at the magazine still in his hand. The illustration on the front showed an otherwise angelic looking girl leaping with razor sharp teeth, demonic eyes, and hands of claws toward a horrified teenage couple. Hyerdal could not see the little girl's face, but he believed it probably looked a lot like the picture on the front of his magazine.

Fawkes realized the connection Hyerdal had made, and shook his head in disgust.

"Goddamn kid, need to grow up. And stop readin' them damn spook books."

Fawkes approached the little girl. He was the father of two daughters, one twenty-three and the other seventeen. His oldest, Margaret, was married, and Colleen, the youngest, was the apple of many a country boy's eye. At around age twelve or thirteen, Colleen had looked a lot like this little girl. He squatted down next to her, tentatively touching her shoulder.

She groaned pitifully. Fawkes

"Shhh, shhh, darlin', it's alright. My name's Bill, I'm not gonna hurt ya'. Looks like you've had your fill of that tonight."

"Help me, please…"

Her voice. So sweet and gentle, like an angel. If she looked like Colleen, then her voice reminded him of Margaret at that age, tugging at his pant leg and begging him to tuck her in and tell her a story.

"It's okay, darlin', I'm gonna do exactly that. I got some friends of mine in the truck, we're gonna take ya' on down to the next gas station. You live very far from here?"

"I can't remember. Please, can you pick me up? I don't think I can walk."

Can't remember. Girl must be even worse off than he had originally though.

"'A'course, sweetheart." He gently gathered her in his arms. He stood with her. She was surprisingly light, almost painfully so. Probably hadn't eaten in a while. Had to be that hobo camp. "You just tell ol' Bill where it hurts…"

And then the girl changed. In his arms, she suddenly leapt into a sitting position and wrapped herself around him, smothering him with her chest. She gripped his shoulders with her arms (_how strong she is_) and wrapped her legs around his waist, a bastardization of the hugs his daughters used to give him when he returned home from work. Bill Fawkes was working on a scream when the girl sank her teeth into his throat, and in one quick jerk of her little head, ripped his throat out.

Fawkes gasped and fell to the pavement as a sickeningly loud sucking sound filled the air. It all took a matter of seconds.

"Oh my God!" Hyerdal screamed.

"Jesus Christ, no! Bill!" Inglewood sobbed. He jumped out of the car, drawing his guard issue .38 Colt revolver. Hyerdal shut the car door behind him, and curled his knees up to his chin.

The girl raised her face from the gory mess that was Fawkes' neck, and looked at Inglewood with a face that wasn't human. Her eyes were narrow slits, burning yellow in the night, her lips a feral grimace, and her teeth…Jesus Christ, her _teeth…_

"You little bitch!" Inglewood roared. His finger was squeezing the trigger, when he felt a hand grip his shoulder, tightly, painfully.

He turned to the face which had been in every newspaper, every movie house news report, and every Wanted poster for the last two months. Jesse Bishop.

He wore a wrinkle-free but dusty suit and a white fedora. His long blonde hair brushed his shoulders, and his face wore a three-days' stubble of beard. He grinned. Inglewood felt his bladder let go.

"If you think she's bad, friend. Wait'll you dance a time or two with _me," _he chuckled. Inglewood shot him in the chest. Bishop stumbled back, bending at the waist, grasping at his chest in agony. Inglewood lowered the smoking gun, waiting for Bishop to fall. Instead, the outlaw's groans of pain turned into low, evil laughter. He stood up, and his eyes glowed red as embers, and his teeth were rattlesnake sharp, much like the little girl behind him.

"Fuckin' rube," he snarled, and with one swipe of his razor-sharp hand, took Michael Inglewood's arm off at the elbow. Inglewood was screaming hopelessly in fear and pain when Bishop slashed stomach open, and then his throat. The guard fell to the pavement, a bleeding, quivering mass of flesh that used to be a man.

Abby watched the murder of the second guard with dispassion. It scared how she had so quickly gotten used to Skinner's brutality. She had met him in Reno, on her way to Las Vegas. In the Sin Belt of southern Nevada, she had bought a few skimpy outfits and was working her way through men of the area who liked them young and fresh. Skinner had been strutting down a street one night, smoking and humming softly to himself. Abby had walked out of the alley, doing her best to look sexy, but instead probably just looked awkward and scared.

"Hey, baby. Lookin' for a good time?" she had tried. She heard that line in a gangster movie in Boston. She couldn't remember which one.

"Fuck off, dolly. Call me when you're eighteen. I may be a lot of things but I ain't no baby-banger," he said, and kept walking. Abby hadn't eaten in three days. She was hungry and pissed off. As Skinner kept walking, she lunged for his back. He had turned and swatted her against a wall like she was nothing more than a common housefly. She snarled at him and made another attempt. He punched her in the face, and stood with his boot on her neck.

"Behave?" he said. She changed back, and he let her stand up.

"What's your name?"

She didn't say anything at first. He rolled his eyes, exasperate.d

"Tell you yours, I'll tell you mine. Sound fair?"

"Abby."

"Abby? Well I'm Skinner. You a nightcrawler?"

"What?"

"Put it to ya' this way; do you like sunlight?"

"Of course not. Neither should you."

"Takes all kinds, dolly. I'm different. Smoke?"

She shook her head. He slid a cigarette from a pack with his lips and lit it from a silver lighter in his jacket pocket.

"How old are you?"

"Don't know. Twelve, I guess."

"No, I mean how long you been like this?"

"It's hard to say. They hadn't celebrated the first 4th of July yet, if that helps."

Skinner whistled, genuinely impressed.

"You must got some kinda balls, kid. Tell ya' what. I was gonna kill ya', on general principle. See, I dunno if you heard, but me and your kind don't get along very well."

"I don't-you're the first one like me that I've met in a long time."

"You ain't _nothin' _like me, dolly. Few are. But, if you're interested, I might just have a job for you. I got a hobo drainin' in an apartment over on 5th Street. Make ya' a nice Type A cocktail. Sound good?"

He had introduced her to the rest of the gang, then. Mean-eyed Clyde, sweet-tempered Tyrell, and silent, stoic Mapache. Alice Tidwell, the driver and Skinner's lover/walking blood bank. She had been with them for a month now, and this was the third night-time job she had helped out on. It wasn't a bad deal. Skinner was crazy, and evil, she knew that. He had way too much fun with what he was. But he didn't hit her _that _often, and kept her fed regularly. He also kept his word regarding his age preference; he had not once tried anything gross, and kept Clyde, the one who did the most talking about her "pert little ass" and "fluffy mouth" away from her. All things considered, Abby had found herself in much worse situations over the years than running with Skinner and his gang.

She finished with Fawkes and walked toward Inglewood. The older guard had been nice to her. She knew she would cry about it later, couldn't right now. Skinner didn't like signs of weakness.

"You drink your fill?" he asked as the Sykes brothers and Mapache scrambled out of the ditch bordering the roadside toward the back of the truck, hefting shotguns and pistols.

"Yeah," she said.

"Ya' did good, kid. Gettin' better every time. Now you just relax, watch the big boys do their work, okay."

Clyde Sykes banged on the back of the armored car.

"Open up in there! We got fifteen men out here, ya' ain't got no chance in Hell!"

"O-okay. I'll open up, just don't hurt me."

"You do what we say son, ain't no reason why you can't walk away from this a living man," Clyde assured him.

There was a shifting around inside the car as the lock was thrown. The twin doors opened, and Hyerdal stood in the truck, shaking from fear.

"Okay. Now let me-"

Clyde cut him off with a shotgun blast to the chest which almost sliced the boy in two.

"Jesus, Clyde," said twenty-five year old Tyrell, his younger brother by three years.

Skinner stormed around to the back of the truck.

"God-DAMN IT, Clyde!"

"What?" the tall, chubby Okie shrugged, pumping another shell into his sawed-off. "You said no witnesses."

"I know, I did say that, didn't I Clyde. What did I say before that?"

Sykes stared at him blankly.

Skinner rubbed his forehead with his hand, grimacing in frustration.

"You said-", Tyrell Sykes began, but then quickly shut himself up.

"What? Got somethin' to say, Ty?"

Clyde stared his brother down. He didn't like it when Tyrell knew more than he did, or gained favor with Skinner. Clyde was the right hand, he was the number two man. Tyrell would still be shit-kicking around their parents' failing farm in Oklahoma if it wasn't for him.

"Okay, we'll put it to your kid brother, since he's obviously the only one who listens 'round here. C'mon, Ty. Speak up."

"You said-you said that you didn't want any witnesses, but that we needed to leave one of the guards alive long enough to open the safe."

"Ya' hear that, Clyde? I wanted you to leave one of the guards alive long enough to open the safe, now…is that safe, open, Clyde?"

Clyde looked toward the ground. Skinner slapped him on his right cheek, snapped his fingers in front of his face.

"Cat got your tongue, peckerwood?"

"No, it ain't, boss."

"No, it fully fuckin' well ain't! Where's our money? Anyone? Anyone?"

Abby sat by the roadside, head on her hands, blood coating her frayed dress and the bottom of her face. So sick and tired of the whole thing.

"In the safe," she muttered.

"What's that, Miss Abigail?"

"In the safe," she said, louder this time.

"Exactly, now Clyde. Buddy. Pal. My, _boon _companion. How do you expect us, to get our money out of the safe…if you just killed the last man to know the combination?"

Clyde was silent.

"Jesus! Well, now. Clyde, go back to the car."

"But I-"

"No, no, no, shut up, and go back to the car!"

"The hell, Skinner?"

"You need to get out of my sight. You need to get out of my sight, otherwise, I'm gonna kill you. I'm gonna rip you the fuck apart, eat you, and give the leftovers to the kid. I'm gonna do that, and I don't wanna do that, because there just ain't enough shit-kickers around willin' to take orders from somethin' they don't even think exists, alright? Back to the car, tell Alice to pick us up, we'll wash our hands of this job, move on to somethin' else."

Muttering angrily, Clyde walked off into the night. Abby stood and walked toward the car.

"It's a puzzle, right?"

"What?" Skinner asked.

"The safe. The combination. It's like a puzzle."

"Yeah, I reckon. So why the hell should I give a flying fuck."

"I'm good with puzzles. Always have been. Got better, for some reason, when I became like…this."

"So…what? You're tellin' me you can open the safe?"

"I can try. Just need time."

"Which we don't have. Sun's up in three hours. This road gets its share during the daytime."

"Gimme twenty minutes. If I don't have it open by then, we'll leave."

Skinner thought for a moment, then smiled.

"Hell, dolly. By your leave."

Abby hopped in the back of the car. She stepped around the buckshot-riddled body of the young guard, and squatted down next to the big iron box that was the safe. Outside, she could hear Skinner feast upon the two older guards. The big Mexican, Mapache, reached in and grabbed the young guard's boots, dragging him out of the truck.

"Awww, _desert," _he heard Skinner hiss.

She fumbled with the lock, turning it every which way, trying every combination of numbers she could think of.

She heard someone climb into the truck with her. A match was lit, and held in front of her face.

"Thought you could use a light," Tyrell Sykes said. He smiled. Abby smiled back. She liked Tyrell. He wasn't above killing and robbing, but he was…_nicer _about it than the others. He sent some of the money they made on their robberies back home to his mother and father in Oklahoma. He had a girl he wanted to go back to, someday, he had told her. She felt a kinship with him. He did what he did because he had to. So did she.

"Thanks, but I can see pretty well in the dark already."

"Aww. Comes with the territory, eh?"

"I guess you could say that, yeah."

He blew out the match. Looked down sadly at the body of the young guard on the floor.

"Wonder if he had any family," he said.

"I try not to think about that anymore," she said.

"I know, I do too, but-I dunno."

She paused briefly from her work, turned and rested her hand on his.

"It never gets easier. I won't lie to you. But if you just keep reminding yourself that _need _to do it, you can get by."

"Get better?" he asked, hopefully. She smiled sadly.

"No, sweetie. But get by."

He nodded. "You're about the only friend I got in this outfit, Ab."

"Same here, Ty. Now go wait outside. You're being sweet, and its distracting me."

Tyrell chuckled and hopped out of the truck.

She fiddled with the safe for another fifteen minutes, until she heard it unlock. It swung free and opened in her hand. She couldn't help but feel some amount of satisfaction.

"Goddamn, dolly," she heard Skinner say from the open door behind her. "I knew we kept you around for somethin'."


	2. Chapter 2

_Oh I'm a good ol' rebel, _

_Oh that's just what I am _

_For this thar land of freedom _

_I do not give a damn _

_I'm glad I fought agin it _

_I only wished we'd won _

_And I don't want no pardon, _

_For anythin' I done. _

Just after sunset, Clyde sat in the corner of the small three room cabin somewhere on the eastern plains of southeastern Colorado, his guitar in his lap, strumming and singing the long-time favorite of unreconstructed rebels everywhere. The house was the home of Ol' Mose, a black, blind ex-cowboy and friend of Skinner's. He was blind, half-deaf, and pushing eighty, spending most of his time the one of two bedrooms of the house, drinking and humming old range ballads. Abby rarely saw Skinner act kindly or even cordial toward anyone unless it was an act, but he seemed to genuinely like the old man and the gang was under strict orders not to bother him.

Abby and Tyrell sat in the center of the small sitting room playing jacks while Mapache snoozed loudly on the couch. The giant could sleep throughout anything, even Clyde's horrendous singing. They had driven all night to get to the hide-out, and Abby had just climbed out of her trunk a little over an hour ago. She yawned as Tyrell asked, "Ready?" She nodded.

Tyrell bounced the ball, and swiped up only one of the five jacks. He cursed softly and handed it over to Abby. She smiled mischievously and let the ball drop. Her hand moved in a blur as she swiped up all five jacks.

"Goddamn, girl. Now that ain't no kind of fair." Abby giggled despite herself.

Tyrell laughed, but then an immediately ashen look fell across his face. She could tell he was thinking about her. Spending time with Abby always did.

"Have you written her?"

"No," he said. "Not since Truckee, and that was what? A month ago."

"You should, then."

"I want to, God knows. Then I get to thinkin' about what the papers have been writin' 'bout us, and the thought of her readin' 'em…knowin' what I did."

Tyrell picked up the ball and circulated it between his fingers thoughtfully. Abby snatched it away from him.

"You should writer her. Forget what the papers say. If she loves you, she won't care."

"That's a crock of shit," a whiskey thickened voice from the corner said.

Clyde still had his guitar in his lap, but he now had a bottle of whiskey balanced on it. He took a deep swig, belched, and wiped his lips with the back of his hand.

"Tracy McGill's a goddamn reverend's daughter, Ty. My guess is she took one look at that article 'bout what went down in Contention, gave you up for a bad egg all around."

"She said she understood what I had to do. I told her I'd use the money to…"

"To what, come back and marry her? Look, all that talk about playin' house and raisin' a passel of brats might'a flown when ya'll was twelve, but you're playin' with the big boys now. You're out here with a bunch'a real outlaws, range riders. You think you're gonna go back to church picnics and baseball games all happy and satisfied? Hell with that. I know for a fact you fucked Tracy but once, and you can't tell me it was worth a life that borin'."

"Yeah, well that's you, Clyde. I always happened to like church picnics."

Clyde laughed and chugged more whiskey.

"Think you're so damn special, don't ya? Tell ya' what kid, forget about Tracy McGill. Git yourself a whore and let that uptight little cunt choke on her sweet tea."

Before Abby could stop him, Tyrell launched himself off the floor, pulled his drunken brother to his feet, and backhanded him across the mouth. As Clyde reeled from the indignity of the blow, Tyrell struck him in the stomach.

"Fuckin' little _shit!" _Clyde snarled, and tackled Tyrell to the floor. They hit with a resounding crash, and the door to the other bedroom flew open.

Skinner stood in the door way, stark naked. Alice stood behind him, wrapped in a sheet, silent as always. Her eyes were glassy with cocaine pills and whiskey. She licked her lips compulsively. Abby was sickened to see the blood staining the sheet from where it wrapped around her small breasts.

The room went silent except for Mapache's continued snores. Clyde and Tyrell, still locked in a fighting embrace, looked up at the vampire like children caught stealing cookies by their mother.

"I'm trying to fuck. You dipshits understand that? I've been out on the road for two goddamn weeks with you assholes, in close fuckin' quarters, haven't been able to get my dick wet for fourteen God awful days, and the first night I have, you two have to go after each other like pigs in a slop. Top it all off, ya' probably woke up Ol' Mose."

"That old rep's deafer'n a rock-", Clyde said. Skinner shut him up with a glare.

"Now I'm goin' back inside so's Alice can give me the concentration I deserve. And if anyone so much as cuts a loud fart in here, I'm beheading someone. Sound good?"

The gang silently gave its assent.

"Don't do to give the undead blue balls," Skinner snarled closing the door.

Abby smoothed her dress and stood up.

"Where the hell you goin'?" Clyde asked.

"Out," she said.

"The hell you are. Boss says no one leaves after dark."

"Dark's the only time I _can _go out, genius. Isn't fair that ya'll have the whole day and I got to spend the only time I'm awake cooped up inside."

Clyde stood from the floor.

"I couldn't give a fuck what's fair. You're stayin' and that's that."

"I'm leaving, and that's that. Wanna stop me? Skinner's not the only one in here who can behead someone."

Clyde simpered for a moment, then smiled. Abby hated it when he smiled.

"Yeah, darlin'. Maybe you do got the drop on me. But wait till the boss hears 'bout this."

Clyde started toward the door to Skinner's room.

"I wouldn't do that, brother. You heard the boss," Tyrell said.

Clyde glared at his younger brother.

"Anyone so much as cuts a loud fart," Tyrell said with a thin smile.

Clyde looked from Tyrell to Abby, then to Skinner's door. Eventually, he shrugged insolently and sat back down in his corner with a huff. He uncorked his whiskey bottle.

"You fuckin' people," he swore, and took another swig.

Tyrell smiled at Abby.

"Have a good night, darlin'."

"Thanks. Don't wait up."

Abby stepped out into the cool night air.

"Evenin', child," a voice to her side said. She jumped and let a little startled yelp. She would think that was funny later. A vampire frightened.

Ol' Mose sat in the rocking chair on the cabin's small porch, smoking a roll-your-own cigarette. It reeked, but Abby didn't mind all that much. When you spend thirty percent of your life in a state of decay, most foul orders lose their potency after a while.

"Hi," she said nervously. She had never spoken to the old man on the previous four occasions she had met him, and he always made her somewhat nervous. His eyes were completely useless, and had taken on a rheumy opaqueness. He seemed harmless, but his eyes still unsettled her.

"You the only one'a Skinner's outfit I ain't properly met," he said. "Whyn't you come over here, so's I can know ya' better."

Abby approached him slowly. Mose raised his gnarled, shaking hands.

"Don't fret none, child. I don't bite," he said, smiling toothlessly.

_But I do,_ she thought, though she had no plans to attack the old man. She had found that elderly blood often tasted watery and unsatisfying, often increasing the hunger rather than satiating it. Plus, Skinner would have her head if she did.

Mose placed his hands on her face, softly. He began to explore it with his fingers. Abby was spooked at first, but then became surprisingly comfortable with it. His skin was like warm paper. His touch was gentle.

"Awww, you a pretty little one. Kind of a pug nose, but I bet the boys don't mind them lips'a yours. And this hair, my my."

She blushed.

"I don't meet many boys," she said.

"That be their misfortune. Why not?"

"I don't know. No occasion to, I guess."

The old man lowered his hands from her face, sat back in his chair and puffed his horrific smelling cigarette.

"Your skin is cold, child. Colder'n a well digger's ass in January."

"Sorry."

"Naw, naw, that be good. My grandmammy, down in Arkansas, she used to have a sayin'. 'Cold hands mean a warm heart.'"

She wanted to hug the old man then. Kiss him even. No one, not even Tyrell, had spoken to her with such kindness in…well, she couldn't remember exactly.

"I like ol' Skin," Mose said. "He saved me from a jam or too, back in the old days. He's an evil son of a bitch, I will admit. But contrary to what they say, man can't always pick his friends. And I owe Skinner my life. Even so, it twists me up a bit to see one like you runnin' with him and his."

"It's-it's somethin' to do."

"You're like, Skinner. But you ain't. Skinner like what he is. Prefers it to what he used to be. But you, child. You wear what you are like Christ wore the cross.

She didn't know what to say, exactly. She felt tears gather in her eyes. Mose took her hand.

"You like cotton candy?"

"Pardon me?"

"Cotton candy?"

"I-no. I mean, maybe, I would. But-but people like me, we can't-"

"Aww, of course, mercy me. Well…what about rides?"

"Rides?"

"Damn girl, you makin' me feel like I gots an echo, yes _rides. _Roller coasters, merry-go-rounds, and the like."

She brightened suddenly. She remembered a roller coaster, the one in Coney Island she thought. How long ago had that been? Fifteen years? Twenty?

"Yeah, I like-I love them."

"That's what I like to hear. Every child should love a ride every now and then. They's a carnival down the road a piece. Takes about a few hours walkin', but I bet you could get there a might faster," he said, with a knowing chuckle in his voice.

"I haven't-I don't know when was the last time I was at a carnival."

"All the more reason to go, then."

"I couldn't."

"The hell you can't. Life is short for most, long for you. Longer still when you don't enjoy it. Go have youself some fun, child."

And in that instant, she knew she would. She was meant to talk to this man tonight. This man was good. This man was pure. If he was telling her to do something, that must mean she was meant to do it.

"Okay. Okay, I think I will."

"Good girl. Be back my mornin', though I doubt I need to tell you that."

She smiled, leaned forward, and kissed Mose on the cheek. He jumped slightly in the chair, and smiled.

"Thank you," she said.

"You go on now."

Abby walked off the porch and off a ways into the darkness of the yard. She thought herself wings, crouched slightly, and launched herself into the air. She would have to pick a secluded spot to land.

But somewhere close to the roller coaster too.

The carnival just outside the small town of Las Animas was an assault to Abby's senses. There were people everywhere; families, young couples, groups of children her age and slightly older, slightly younger. Calliope tunes filled the air along with the usual huckster's cries.

"Step right up, step right up ladies and gentlemen, guess the size, win a prize!"

"YOU! Yes, YOU! Can go home a winner tonight!"

"It's so easy a child can do it…!"

Abby's nostrils were flooded with the smells of fried dough and grilling meat. Part of her reacted in disgust, while a smaller but still present part felt a nostalgic hunger. She thought she saw the cotton candy Ol' Mose had spoken up; big fluffy pink and light blue clouds on sticks, some of the clouds as big as her torso. Overhead, the carousel turned slowly while the cars of the small rollercoaster rattled along with the screams of the riders. She paused below the carousel, her eyes falling upon two teenagers maybe two or three years older than her, kissing in one of the little carts. Their kissing was became much more urgent as the boy stroked the girls cheek and neck before dipping his hand lower. Abby watched the lovers with a longing she could not explain, and did not particularly want to explore further.

A crowd of children around her age stood in line for the carousel. Abby watched them, jealously. This was a longing she could immediately identify. She had had a friend her own age once. A young girl, she remembered. They used to play together in the plantation yard in the days before it had happened. What had her name been? She was the daughter of one of the black field hands Papa owned. But what was her name…?

As she watched the group of friends, giggling and cutting up, she felt herself pulled toward them. She wanted to run to them, introduce herself, join in their laughter and fun, if only for just tonight.

As she watched them closer however, she realized the laughter and fun was mostly at the expense of one young boy in particular. He was smaller than the rest, with oddly cut short brown hair and glasses which the taller boys in his group kept snatching away from him and holding out of his reach. His clothes were older and didn't fit him as well as the rest of the children. Slowly, her jealousy turned into anger at the way they were treating the boy. He was only trying to be included. Only trying to be _liked. _

When the carousel stopped, the group's attention shifted away from him and back to the line. They surged forward, and the bespectacled boy attempted to follow. The largest of the boys stopped him with a hand on his chest, and shoved him away slightly. A young girl, the prettiest of the group, giggled and took the big boy's hand, pulling him away to catch up with the others.

Glasses Boy turned sadly, tucking his hands in the pockets of his frayed brown canvas pants and began walking away. Abby was going to let him, but then she heard Ol' Mose's voice in the back of her head; _Go have yourself some fun, child. _

Slowly, trying to calm the rapid pounding in her chest, Abby approached the boy as he sat down on a bench between two gaming booths; a shooting gallery and a spin the wheel.

She sat down next to him.

"Hi," she said. The boy looked at her quizzically. Up close now, Abby could see he had a strange birthmark just below his right eye, in the shape of a big fat teardrop. It made him look sad and bizarrely joyful all at once.

"Hi," he said, making it sound like a question.

She thought desperately for something to see, feeling the moment slipping away from her.

"I like your glasses," she said finally, kicking herself for her stupidity. To her surprise though, the boy blushed and removed his specs, looking at them as if he had never seen them before.

"Thanks," he said. "My mom and dad had to save up a lot, but they sent away for some in Kansas City from a catalogue. I see a lot better than I used to," he said.

"How come you couldn't see?"

"I dunno. My dad says bad eyes run in the family. He can see okay, but I guess my grampa couldn't."

They were silent for a moment. The boy looked fairly calm, but Abby was filled with torment as she fought for something else to say. It had been so long since she had talked to someone her own age.

He saved her by saying something first.

"Are you from around here? I know I've never seen you in school."

"No, I-uh. I'm just visiting. My parents, they-uh, they have friends here. We're only in town for a little while."

"Huh," the boy said, and to Abby's surprise, actually seemed somewhat saddened by this.

"I've never been to a carnival before," she said, raising her voice up an octave to sound girlishly excited.

"Really?"

"Nope." she said, shaking her head.

"Everybody's been to a carnival."

"Not me."

"Wow. How do you like it?"

"Hmmm. It's okay."

"How come you're here alone?"

"My mom and dad-they're tired. They don't like to go out very much. But they trust me enough to go out by myself."

"I wish my parents were like that. They only let me go 'cause I was going with Seth and all those guys."

The memory of the "friends" who had jilted him struck him again, and he seemed to sink lower into his seat.

"Those were your friends?" she asked.

"Well…I mean, _sometimes. _I'm pretty good in school, and I let them all copy off me sometimes. They only brought me along on account of Seth's mom made them."

"Was that the big kid?" she asked.

"Yeah. Girls think he's keen," he said, saying it away which suggested he thought she most likely did too. Abby shook her head emphatically.

"Uh-huh, not me. He's too tall for me. And kinda fat. Like Santa Claus," she said. What was it Santa said? Oh, right. "Ho-ho-ho!" she said, deepening her voice and bouncing up and down as if her belly was shaking like a bowl full of jelly. The boy laughed. It was the best sound she had heard in who-the-hell-knew.

"If you don't have anyone to go on any of the rides with then," she said. "I guess, you and I could."

He looked at her with real surprise.

"Really?"

She smiled and nodded.

"Okay!" he said, practically bounding to his feet. She felt so happy she could burst as she stood to join him.

"What do you want to do first?" he asked.

"Whatever you want to do," she said, hoping her voice didn't convey the delirious excitement she felt.

"Mmmm…roller coaster?"

"Sounds great. I'm Abby by the way," she said, sticking out her hand. The boy smiled and took it.

"Thomas. My name's Thomas."


	3. Chapter 3

The carnival was wonderful. They rode the roller coaster first, then the merry-go-round. Thomas took on the roll of the gentleman, paying for her tickets and helping her into and off the rides. She screamed and laughed so loud on the roller coaster she thought for sure Skinner had heard her all the way back at the cabin. They talked about him mostly, and in a matter of a few hours she had a pretty good idea of where he lived and what his parents were like. They didn't talk to him, much, he said. When they did it was usually when he had done something wrong, when they didn't want him to do a certain thing. The Depression had hit them hard, and their farm was still recovering. They had been able to scrape up enough for his glasses, and that had been the last thing they had given him in a while. Anything he owned he had bought for himself, he told her, by doing odd jobs on neighboring farms and ranches. That was how he had saved up enough to go to the carnival.

In between rides, Thomas had bought himself a corn dog and a root beer. He offered to buy her one too, but she politely refused, saying her family had cooked her a big dinner and that she wasn't at all hungry. Thomas took one look at her slight frame and appeared doubtful, but eventually shrugged it off. They were having too much fun for him to protest further. After Thomas had slurped up the last of the pop and licked the mustard and bits of greasy dough off his fingers, they took a tour of the games. Abby felt as though she was walking on air. She laughed at seemingly nothing at all, and if Thomas thought this was strange she didn't show it. In fact, he seemed to enjoy her gaiety and went out of his way to keep a smile on her face, whether it was by cracking jokes or sneakily tickling her ribs. She wasn't ticklish, but she laughed and jumped away coquettishly so as to encourage him, relishing his touch. At one point, as they stood talking while waiting in line for the Strength Test, Abby's mind drifted for just a moment to say; _This is what I want. This is what I want for all time, and it shouldn't be allowed to go away. _She wanted to grab him and hold onto him forever, make the night last as long as she possibly could. However, by ten thirty, the carnival was winding down for the night.

They stood facing each other outside the gated entrance.

"I had a really fun time," Thomas said.

"Me too."

And still Thomas looked sad.

"What's wrong?"

"It's just-I don't have many friends, ya' know. And you're a ball to be around. And-well, you're leaving soon."

Abby looked down, knowing exactly what he meant.

"I know. But-but I probably won't be leaving quite as soon as I said."

Thomas visibly brightened. "Really?"

"Really."

"The carnival's in town for one more night. There's still some other stuff we haven't done."

"Like the carousel," Abby said, playfully shoving his shoulder. Thomas smiled sheepishly. They had almost gotten on, but Thomas admitted to a last minute fear of heights.

"Yeah, like the carousel. I suppose it won't be that bad."

"Meet here tomorrow night? Same time?"

"Sounds great."

She was going to kiss him. It was decided. Watching him, standing in the fading lights of the carnival as it was systematically shut down for the evening, looking simultaneously vulnerable and strong, Abby knew she had to do it, almost as much as she knew if she didn't eat in the next two days, she was going to look like something the undertaker put away and forgot about. She stepped closer to him, reached out and took both his hands in hers. Thomas eyes widened as he guessed what was about to happen, and leaned forward to meet her.

"ABBY!"

It was the sound of the worst voice in the world. And it was calling her. She turned slowly toward it.

"Where the hell you been, girl! Your mother and I have been worried sick!"

Skinner stormed toward her and Thomas with all the proper indignity, disappointment, and relief of a worried parent.

She glared daggers at him for a moment, then fell into the act. Thomas could never find out what she was, and if he ever did, she didn't want it to be like this.

"I just got bored sitting around the house, Daddy. I wanted some fresh air, and Uncle Moses told me there was a carnival down the road…"

"Your Uncle Moses forgets himself from time to time. Comes from being the senile old bastard that he is. Who's this?" he said, motioning to Thomas.

Thomas coughed and cleared his throat, trying to find the words that fear had robbed him of.

"I'm uh-my name's Thomas, sir. Thomas Reeves." He shakily stuck out a hand. "Pleased to make your acquaintance."

Skinner angrily slapped it away. Thomas hissed in pain and cradled it to him. Abby moved forward to comfort him, but Skinner seized her shoulder, his nails digging painfully into her skin through the thin fabric of the dress she wore.

"You're in a lot of trouble, young lady! As are you, Mr. Thomas Reeves! Stealin' a man's daughter out in the waning hours of the day to some carnival! You ever met carnies, children? Godless heathens lacking in substance or decency, that's what they are!"

Abby could tell by the glint in Skinner's eye that he was getting a kick out of this, and she hated him all the more for it.

"Thomas didn't do anything, _Father!" _she said, biting into the last word viciously. "I came to the carnival by myself, I didn't meet him until I got here. He thought you and Ma said I could come alone." She looked at Thomas, who stood with tears gathering in his eyes, with sincere regret. "I lied to _him,_" she said.

Skinner played the angry but considerate paternal figure well as he tightened his lips into a line as if in extreme, compassionate thought.

"Well now. I suppose I know what it was like to be a child, once. Thomas, I apologize for my rash behavior earlier. As for you, young lady, we will discuss this matter further at home. Say goodbye to your little friend, now."

Abby jerked her shoulder away from Skinner's grasp with all of her might and flew upon him in the tightest hug she had ever given anybody.

"I'm so sorry," she whispered lightly in his ear before giving him the quickest of kisses on the cheek.

Skinner seized her arm again and began dragging her away. They left Thomas standing there as the carnival closed down behind him, tears staining his face.

Once they had reached the small copse of trees where Skinner had parked the car, he struck her viciously across the face. It wasn't the first time he had hit her since Las Vegas, but it was definitely the hardest. Usually, Abby had managed to withstand the blows; mere love taps compared to this one. However, he had just done what he never failed to do; ruin the magic of something pure and innocent, something she was rarely allowed to have. As soon as she hit the ground by the car, she thought herself claws and teeth, and flew up off the ground in a rage.

She leapt for him. Skinner had thought the first hit had pacified her, and wasn't ready for any retaliation. She struck him the back and drove him against the side of the car. Abby sank her teeth deep into his shoulder. Black, rotten blood gushed into her mouth. She wanted to choke on it, but her ire ran deeper than her disgust. She made her teeth go deeper as Skinner howled in rage and agony. He ran around comically in a circle for a moment, trying to shake her off. Eventually, he managed to sink his own clawed hand into the soft flesh of her back. She released him to scream as Skinner picked her up and hurled her through the air.

Abby landed hard on the ground on the other side of the car. Skinner leapt through the air and landed astride her. She slashed his face. Skinner sat on her chest and gripped both her wrists so tight she thought she could hear the bone splintering.

"You…are getting…on my last…nerve!" he panted.

Abby snarled and twisted, but Skinner just placed more of his weight upon her.

"We've got a good thing goin' here, dolly. You scratch my back, I scratch yours."

"I'm nothing but your fucking slave!" she hissed.

"Oh, such foul language from such a young girl, ya' know, if I didn't need you as much as I do, I'd take your pretty little face off-"

"Get off me, Skinner…"

"And throw you hog-tied naked and covered in honey to Clyde before I did it!"

"Abby?"

This time, the voice who called out to her was small and young, high and tight with fear. Skinner's head snapped around toward the voice, eyes still glowing red, rattlesnake fangs shining in the moonlight. Thomas screamed and stumbled back, tripping over a tree root and sprawling out on his back on the ground.

"Well, well, well," Skinner said. "What have we here?" Skinner rose off of her. She sucked in at least a foot of air.

"You follow us? The world hates a spy, Mr. Reeves. You best remember that while I'm slurping down your small intestine like pasta-"

Abby threw herself protectively in front of him.

"Skinner, stop!" To her surprise, Skinner did just that.

"The hell is this?" Skinner said with real confusion. "Why ain't _you _munchin' on him?"

"Because I like him."

Skinner paused for a moment before bursting into laughter.

"You-you _like _him?" he cackled as he tried to catch his breath. "Oh mercy, oh friends and neighbors, this is just _great! _You _like _him, isn't that just precious? Whew. Well, now."

Thomas drew an arm around Abby's waist and pulled her close to him, moving her slightly behind him.

"I think-I think it'd just be best if you left now, sir," he stammered. Abby was both charmed, amazed, and afraid at his act of courage, afraid of how Skinner would react.

Skinner licked his chops like a hyena.

"You got cajones, kiddo. I admire that, I really do. But as the old song says, you've just seen too much. For my piece of mind, I need you to be in pieces."

He reached for him. Abby squeezed him tighter.

"Skinner if you let him live I'll go with you!" Skinner paused, placing both hands on his hips.

"You'll go with me whether I kill him or not, dolly. This ain't what I'd call a negotiable situation you're in."

"I'm guessing what you got planned next involves a safe being opened, right?"

Skinner went about lighting a cigarette. "Continue."

"You don't like witnesses, Clyde's too trigger happy to follow any plan you give him. You need what I know, like you said. You want to kill Thomas, you'll have to kill me. End of story."

"Jesus H. Christ on rubber fuckin' crutches dolly, ya' just met the kid!"

"So?"

"So mostly our interactions with his kind don't usually last very far beyone fuckin' 'em, usin' 'em, and/or eatin' 'em. He's a walking snack dolly, and you _like _him?"

She stood up, helping Thomas stand with her. She held his hand tightly.

"Thomas isn't a snack. He never will be. He's my friend, right Thomas?"

Thomas was staring at her the way a Catholic priest would behold the Madonna. "Yeah. Of course I am."

"That's good enough for me."

"So, I should take his word on account of he's some chicken-shit little farm-boy with a hard-on for you?"

"Something like that, yeah."

Skinner smoked his cigarette down viciously to the filter as he mulled it over. He fixed a brutal, vindictive stare on the two children.

"Alright, here's how it's gonna go down. Thomas, you're gonna go home. You're not gonna say anything about this to anyone. I so much as think you've blabbed to your parents, the cops, the guy who cuts your hair, I'm comin' lookin' for you. And before I kill you in the slowest, most painful way possible, I'm gonna make you watch while I take your little girlfriend apart, piece by piece. Understand?"

Thomas was frozen in place for a moment. Abby nudged him encouragingly.

"Yeah, o-okay. I won't tell anyone, I promise."

"Good boy. Abby, get in the car."

"Couldn't we give him a ride home?"

"I am not a fuckin' taxi service, he walked here, he can walk his scrawny ass home."

Skinner got behind the wheel of the car. Abby faced Thomas, raised his hand to her face, and placed it on her smooth cheek, holding it there. His hand was cool and comforting to the touch. She wanted it to stay there forever.

"I'll come see you," she said. "I promise. I won't leave for good without saying goodbye."

"Okay. This-this is either the best or-or just the scariest thing that's ever happened to me. I dunno how I'm gonna sleep tonight."

"Just think about the day we had. Imagine me there with you. Sleep'll come easy, okay?"

Skinner honked the horn. "I'm immortal and I still feel like I'm growin' old here! Jesus fuck."

Abby took one last look at him, smiled and opened the passenger's side door of the car. She slammed the door shut, and Skinner tore off down the dirt backcountry road which led back to Mose's place.

Skinner shook his head.

"I swear. Life was a helluva lot simpler before I met you, Abs. Little murder, little rape, a lot of money and whiskey. Now I got pussy-whipped little boys and baby-fuckin' Okies to worry about."

She was about to reply, then heard a low, pitiful whimpering. She looked behind the seats, down at the floor of the car. A boy and a girl of about fourteen or fifteen were tied, beaten, and bloodied between the front and back seats. They stared up at her with wide, terrified eyes. The girl was trying to speak, probably plead, behind the gag Skinner had fashioned out of an old bandanna. Abby recognized them immediately. The couple from the carousel.

"Oh, ya' noticed 'em, huh? Picked 'em up on the way here. Figured you hadn't eaten in a while."

Abby sat back down in her seat, revolted with both herself and Skinner. But mostly herself. Because as much as she had grown to hate Skinner, she knew he was right.

The two kids who had been kissing on the carousel mere hours ago would not live through the rest of the night, and she would be the reason why.

Skinner smiled and winked.

"Hey. You're welcome."


End file.
